


Princess Palace

by Anonymous



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clarke/Bellamy/Roan elements, Dark Bellamy, Dark Roan, Dominance/submission, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Group Sex, Humiliation, Kink Meme, Mind the Tags, Sex Toys, Step!Dad Bellamy, The 100 (TV) Kink Meme, Virgin!Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-12 13:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17468864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: From the 2019 kink meme prompt: When naive/innocent Clarke turns 16, her stepfather Bellamy decides it’s time for her to learn about sex/her body.





	1. Chapter 1

The second he first laid eyes on Abby, Bellamy had her pegged right away as a sweet, naive workaholic doctor who just wanted to save lives and always tried to think the best of everybody. Lucky for him, they met about a year after her husband Jake died in a car crash. The woman was desperate to be complimented again, cuddled, taken out to dinner. And Bellamy was nothing if not charming. Before long, they were dating. Six months into the relationship, he proposed. Sure, the sex was vanilla, but Abby was loaded - he was living in a mansion with a pool and hot tub for Christ's sakes. Whenever she was home - which wasn't that frequently (another bonus of medical schedules) she cooked him delicious dinners. Plus, her wealth afforded him the ability to stay at home and work on his mystery thriller novel. Yeah, life was good.   
  
But it was also frustrating. Abby had one daughter, Clarke, a petite, curvy, blue-eyed blonde who strolled through the house in micro shorts in the summer and tight cheerleader skirts in the fall. Almost overnight she suddenly had a bigger rack than any 15-year-old had a right to. The mere sight of her wrapped in a towel coming out of the shower was enough to send all the blood flowing straight to Bellamy's cock. She seemed completely oblivious to how she affected him though. Mostly, she ignored him, barely talking to him at dinners where she sat across the too-long table in their fancy dining room with its white linens and fine paintings of grapes and wine. With school over, Clarke locked herself away in her room a lot to paint if she wasn't out with her friends. It pissed him off.   
  
Her sixteenth birthday comes in the middle of July. Bellamy knows he's running out of time, knows as soon as the school year starts she's going to be snapped up by some idiotic football player who'll ruin her sweet body and make her as dumb a whore as all the other girls her age. She'll be a sophomore after all. He isn't going to let that happen.   
  
The opportunity presents itself a week after the privileged Princess spends her birthday at some ritzy spa celebrating with her bratty, spoiled friends. Abby tells him over coffee that she needs to fly to Seattle for a week for a big medical conference about congenital disorders or some shit like that. He's not really listening.   
  
"Honey?" she touches his arm with a soft smile. "You'll look after Clarke while I'm gone, right?"   
  
His dark eyes turn to the window where he watches his stepdaughter sunning herself next to the pool, wearing big sunglasses and a too-small red polka dot bikini. The curves of her tits alone could make his mouth water.   
  
"Absolutely, babe," he smiles up at his wife. "It'll give us a chance to get to know each other better. Don't worry about a thing." 

* * *

Abby has an evening flight. She bustles around the house grabbing things to put in her bag and throwing out reminders to him and Clarke, so they don't forget to water the plants or put out the trash. But then, with a peck to his lips and a squeeze of Clarke's shoulders, she's finally fucking gone. 

  
The sun's starting to brush against the tops of the tall trees surrounding their estate when Bellamy walks back into the kitchen where Clarke is sitting on a barstool, mindlessly poking her fork into her bowl of pad thai.   
  
"It's going to be the end of carbs again for you soon isn't it?" Bellamy asks, leaning his hand against the doorway and watching her. She's wearing a pair of jean shorts today with frayed hems and a bright purple bra under her white tank top. The straps are peeking out against her light brown shoulder.   
  
"Excuse me?" Clarke narrows her pretty blue eyes at him, swinging one bare foot through the air.   
  
Bellamy shrugs and walks closer to her.   
  
"Cheerleading practice starts again soon," he says casually, landing a hand on her thigh. "You'll want to keep that pretty figure."   
  
He feels the tiny shiver ripple through her and bites back his smile.   
  
She grunts something noncommittally.   
  
"I gotta go," she draws her leg away from him, hopping down from the seat and pushing what's left of her food into the garbage before making her way to the dishwasher. "Meeting Wells, Jasper and Monty for a movie."   
  
Bellamy feels his jaw twitch with annoyance   
  
"Your mother would allow that?"   
  
Clarke shoots him a look like he's crazy.  
  
"Going to the movies with friends? You know she would."   
  
"All male friends," Bellamy corrects sternly, stepping toward her again. "What do you think that says about you?"   
  
Clarke bites her lip and tugs on the neckline of her tank top. There's a small flush to her cheeks though her words bite. "It says I have male friends, asshole," she snaps.   
  
"Language, Princess," Bellamy can't keep the anger from bleeding into his voice.   
  
"I told you to stop calling me that!"   
  
He laughs, low and mean, coming closer still. "You're not going to tell me anything ever again, Princess." He throws a firm forearm out to catch her around the stomach when she tries to swerve past him. "And you're definitely not leaving the house tonight."

* * *

"What are you talking about?" Clarke exclaims. He takes his time listening to her short pants and watching her large breasts jiggle when she tries again to move around him. 

  
Bellamy's hand slides with purpose across her stomach before his strong fingers encircle her wrist.   
  
"You're staying with me tonight."   
  
The words take immediate effect. Her petal mouth puckers in anger.   
  
"You can't control where I go!" she cries stormily.   
  
"That's where you're wrong," Bellamy's eyes glint as he takes in her porcelain skin and the tiny upward tilt to her nose. She smells like roses. "Your mother left me in charge of you. So I am," his free hand moves to her hip, causing her to back up into the counter, "actually in control."   
  
"You're such a dick!" Clarke spits. "All you do is sit around and pretend to write while my mom supports you!"  
  
Bellamy's grip tightens on her hip, bringing a gasp from her lips as hot-white anger pools in his gut. The sassy mouth on this little brat. He's going to give her a new use for it. Before she knows it, his cock is going to be so far down her throat, she won't be able to say a damn thing. He presses himself up against her body, pinned between his chest and the gleaming counter. He hears her sharp intake of breath. So she can feel him getting hard against her. Good.   
  
"I'd watch your mouth, young lady," Bellamy's hand roams up her torso from her hip across the hills of her breasts, just barely skimming them, to circle around her throat. He squeezes lightly, just enough to get his point across. "I know for a fact you're not as sweet and innocent as you pretend to be Clarke."   
  
"What the fuck are you talking about?" she hisses, tiny beads of water pooling in the corners of her eyes.   
  
"Who wears the kind of clothes you do around their stepfather if they're not looking for trouble, hmm?"   
  
Her eyes widen in disbelief and his former military days come in handy when he catches her knee moving the second before it can crash up into his groin. He grabs it just in time, brings it back down before slapping her once across the face. Her cheek pinks immediately.   
  
"I'm going easy on you right now, Princess. But this _is_ happening. You're mine for the week. I'm going to do whatever I want to you. Do you understand?"   
  
Clarke looks up through the window over the sink, blinking back tears. Bellamy grips her hips tightly suddenly, large hands moving behind her to cup her fleshy ass cheeks. "I said do you understand?" he demands.   
  
"Yes," Clarke whispers.   
  
"Yes, what?"   
  
"Yes, sir."   
  
He smiles at that. "That's better. Don't worry, baby." He runs the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. "I've got the next week all planned out for us."   
  
It's his mistake. He releases his hands from her for one moment, and she slips around him, running for the front door. But the joke's on her. This place is old, all the main doors to the outside locking from both sides. He's already walked around and secured the three entrances, locked the key away in his safe, so she can't escape. He hears her bang once on the door in frustration, cry out, start pounding up the stairs. He locked those doors, too. They'll open when he's good and ready to open them.   
  
He gives her five minutes to collect herself. It's only polite. This is a lot of change to deal with in a short amount of time. Then he goes to the massive front foyer and yells her name.   
  
"If you don't bring your ass down here in ten seconds, I'm going to come drag you down, and it won't be pretty," he promises.   
  
Clarke appears with a shaky hand on the wooden railing, blonde waves a mess of sleek curl and frizz around her head.   
  
"What do you want from me?" she asks quietly when she's three steps from the bottom.   
  
"I want you to obey, so I don't have to hurt you," Bellamy tells her, feeling his cock harden in his shorts. "You're 16 now, Clarke. You're not a child anymore. It's time you learned how the world really works."

* * *

She stands there, still as stone. 

  
"You let any of those boys at school touch you yet, Princess?" He reaches out to wrap a hand around her waist and presses his fingers into the small of her back, urging her to step forward the rest of the way.   
  
"No," she mumbles, flushing again.   
  
"You sure?" Bellamy tries to soften his voice. He lifts her chin with two fingers so he can look into her eyes and catch any lies. "No horny teenage boys have pushed their cocks between your thighs?"   
  
"No!" she shakes her head hard, starting to cry again.   
  
"Shhhh, that's ok, baby. It's all right. I was hoping that's what you'd say," Bellamy runs a hand up and down the goosebumps along her arm. "I'll know if you're lying anyway," he adds as an afterthought, chuckling to himself.   
  
"What do you want with me?" Clarke asks.   
  
"I thought I made that clear already," Bellamy pulls her into his side, leading her back to the kitchen. "You're going to go back and sit down by that counter and I'm going to make you a big girl drink. Then," he slips a hand into her back pocket to grope her gorgeous round ass, "I'm going to start teaching you how to be a good slut for me."   
  
Clarke whimpers when he lifts her back into the seat she'd been on before. Her eyes dart around the kitchen, watching him prepare her a double shot of whisky.  
  
A minute later, he passes her the drink. She doesn't touch it. Just stares. "I don't drink, Bellamy," she murmurs, brushing away a tear.   
  
"You do now," he tilts his head, taking his own drink and toasting her before letting the smooth flavor roll down his throat. "Every drop, Princess. We've got plans this evening, a guest coming." He watches his words sink in with a smirk. She doesn't move.  
  
"Drink it all. Right now," he demands, walking around the counter quickly.   
  
Her hand wraps back around the tall, frosted shot glass. She downs the amber liquid like a pro, only grimacing slightly before putting the glass back down with a clink.   
  
He can tell by her expression her brain is flying through the list of people who could possibly be joining them.   
  
"W-who?"   
  
"It's a surprise," he sneers. "Now go into the living room. There's a bag on the couch with what I want you to wear."

* * *

Inside the bag, there's a strip of red plaid and another of stretchy white fabric, like lycra. No underwear. No bra. She gazes at Bellamy's amused face in horror. 

  
"I can't wear this!"   
  
"'Course you can. It's not like you wear much else in the summer anyway. Now get changed."   
  
Shoulders slumping in defeat, she's taken a few steps in the direction of the downstairs bathroom when Bellamy halts her with a firm hand on her shoulder.   
  
"No, Clarke. Right here. In front of me." His teeth glint white in the sunlight streaking in from the windows above. Bellamy sits down on the plush leather couch, spreading his legs and eyeing her closely where she stands holding the fabric helplessly in her hands.   
  
"Take off your top, Princess."   
  
She lets the outfit fall away from her onto the table with a soft plop. Her fingers unsteadily tug the tank top over her head, leaving her in her crazy bra which is laced with tiny flowers.   
  
"Bra next," Bellamy taps his fingers excitedly against his thigh.   
  
"Please Bellamy, don't make me do this." Pleading. It's the only thing she can think to do.   
  
"You are to immediately obey me, Clarke," Bellamy grits out, running a light hand over the growing bulge in his shorts. And you're going to address me as Sir at all times. If you don't," he pauses, "I'll spank that round ass of yours until it's red and tender and you're squirming to get away from me. Do you understand?"   
  
"Yes, sir," Clarke whispers, gazing down at her baby pink toenail polish.   
  
She's such a little lamb. He can't wait to watch her mouth fall open when he thrusts his thick cock into her pussy for the first time. He's going to make her take him hard. All Princesses need their worlds shook up now and then. He's practically salivating when the soft snap of her bra opening reaches his ears. She's wearing a front-clasp bra just like the slut he knows she is. Her breasts are large, heavy and full with nipples the color of raspberries, already starting to pucker in the air conditioning.  
  
"Now the shorts," he demands. She nods and complies, sliding the denim down her thighs and kicking the excuse for covering over to the side with her foot. Clarke bites her lip like she always does when she's nervous.   
  
"Say goodbye to your panties," Bellamy grins, lolling back onto the cushions. "You won't be seeing them anymore."   
  
The simple, yellow cotton rolls away from her skin. So virginal. He would've expected a black thong if he were being honest. Finally, his eyes can roam over the curves that have tormented him for weeks, months. She has a tiny bit of extra fat everywhere it counts, but otherwise she's lean and unblemished.   
  
"Let's see how you look in your new outfit, Clarke," he says sweetly. "You always did like new clothes."   
  
"Why are you doing this to me?" Her throat and chest are flushing with her shame.   
  
He just blinks back at her naked form, face expressionless.   
  
"I thought that was obvious. Because I want to," he emphasizes every word clearly so it rings through the room. "Because I can. Now put on those goddamn clothes."   
  
The plaid midriff is sleeveless, with only three buttons that end right at the bottom of her breasts, pushing them up. There are two pieces of hanging fabric to tie at the bottom. She realizes a moment later the white stretchy thing is an attempt at a skirt, though her hips are too wide for it to do much more than just cover her ass cheeks and pussy.   
  
"Perfect. Come here and sit down by me," Bellamy pats the seat beside him.

* * *

She sinks onto the cool fabric, trying to keep as much space as possible between them. When her skirt rides up, she tries to tug it down, but Bellamy catches her wrist and shakes his head. "From now on, you'll make sure I always have easy access to your pink cunt. So keep those legs nice and open for me." Stones fall into her stomach. In her silence, his nails press down into the skin above her knee and she yelps. 

  
"Yes, sir."   
  
"Good. I want you to answer a few questions," Bellamy starts slowly stroking up her exposed leg. "You told me no boy ever touched you before, but have you ever taken one of their dirty cocks down your throat and swallowed their come?"   
  
Her eyes widen in shock. He can feel her inner thigh muscles tremble, wanting desperately to close as his hand creeps up higher and higher. But she can't. Because he won't allow it. "Don't look so surprised, Princess. I know what goes on in high school."   
  
"No!" she gasps, just as the tips of his fingers brush against the soft hair surrounding her labia. "I-I've never! Never," she repeats emphatically.   
  
"You've never what?" A glint is back in Bellamy's eye as he turns himself more fully toward her, finding the pillow of her clit and starting to rub it carefully. "Sluts need to say all the dirty words."   
  
"I've never sucked a cock," she gasps out as if it pains her.   
  
"Who have you kissed then?" Bellamy coos darkly, continuing his gentle assault on her clit. It's starting to make her wiggle. His left knee is tucked away next to her thigh, right hand inching upward to run simple circles around her right breast. He drags his fingers closer and closer to her nipple that he can see popping out against the thin material.   
  
"Just Finn," Clarke squinches her eyes shut like she can block this if she tries. No, not on his watch. "I've kissed him a few times and he tried to touch me under my sweater, but I wouldn't let him!" She huffs it out like she's the righteous one, like she wants him to praise her for being a good little darling.   
  
"I thought you told me no boy had touched you yet, Clarke." Instant coldness seeps into Bellamy's voice. His grip goes tighter at her breast, enjoying the fullness of her flesh while she gasps.   
  
"He d-d-didn't. Not really." Her blue eyes are begging with him as they meet his own.   
  
"That's not what it sounds like to me. Sounds like my stepdaughter is letting nasty boys touch her underneath the bleachers like a whore."   
  
"No! I'm not a whore!" Clarke cries out passionately.   
  
Bellamy's finger dips down into her folds, delighted to find them wet. Without pushing in, he circles her opening and brings it up to her eyes glinting in slick. "Yes you are, baby. See? You like me playing with you, making you squirm." He forces his finger past her lips, introducing the taste of herself further onto her tongue.

* * *

He draws back after a few moments of her gagging noises. The alcohol is starting to have its effect. He sees it in her muscles, they're looser, more malleable.   
  
"Tell me, Princess. Have you ever seen a cock before?"   
  
She shakes her head no, folding her hands primly in her lap.   
  
His smirk widens.   
  
"Well that's about to change. Get on the floor and kneel in front of me. Then unzip my pants."   
  
Clarke sways as he pulls back from her and settles into the couch. Then there she is. On her knees in front of him like he's always imagined. Her small, white hands nervously reach out to pop open the button and unzip the fly. He cuts her some slack, pushes them down himself and gives her a minute to examine the impressive tenting happening in his black boxers.   
  
"Big, isn't it?" he leers down at her, reaching out to push some of that long blonde hair behind her shoulder. He reaches out suddenly, lifts her halfway up under her armpits and presses his mouth close to her ear. "I'm going to push it into every hole you have this week. You're gonna be covered in my sticky come." He lets her go without warning, her knees hit the floor, and she frowns. "Take off the boxers and kiss my dick hello."   
  
Clarke's mouth does open in surprise at the sight of him. He's almost fully hard, pink mushroom head swollen and leaking precum. His length is thick and rigid, and there's an anticipation thrumming up and down his spine he's never felt before with anyone he's ever fucked. Clarke moves her hand through the air, her skank friends must've told her she's supposed to stroke him, but he clicks his tongue.   
  
"Just your mouth right now, Princess. Hands on my knees."   
  
She eyes him hesitantly before sticking out her tongue and licking him around the head. He grunts softly, pushing his hips further toward her mouth. He's waited too long to be teased by the slut. A few inches slide across her tongue, and she opens her mouth wider, pushing out a breath through her nose.   
  
"There you go. Pull those teeth away and start sucking, sweetheart. If you bite me, I'll beat you."   
  
She doesn't know what she's doing. It's sloppy as saliva starts to leak out of her mouth and her fingers dig into his knees. But she gives a few licks of her tongue to the underside of his shaft that almost make him loose it. He can't have that. He grabs the back of her throat in retaliation, pushing more viciously into back of her soft, hot throat. Clarke's fingers start to scramble against his skin. She mumbles and moans something that sounds like "no," eyes watering. Poor little thing can't really breathe all that well. But it's not his problem. He wants to come, and he's going to. Over and over he pounds his cock down her throat, drawing back only minimally before filling it fully once more. The tingle at the base of his spine comes almost too soon. He can feel his balls drawing up and knows it's almost over.   
  
"Gonna come down that slutty throat of yours. Swallow every drop."   
  
He spurts the white cream down her throat a second later, panting then sagging with relief. Clarke looks shocked, overfull, but he catches her jaw and keeps some pressure there as he draws out. "Swallow," he commands again.   
  
He watches the lump move down her ivory throat twice with great satisfaction then glances down at his slowly softening cock.  
  
"Lick it clean." He holds a hand to her shoulder as she takes him back in her mouth and swirls her tongue around in kitten licks to clean up the remains of his pleasure.

* * *

When his boxers are pulled back up his hips, he grabs her by the wrist and drags her back into the kitchen, caging her against the liquor cabinet and grabbing her shot glass out of the sink. "Another," he pours the liquid and hands it to her. "Drink."   
  
"Sir," she whispers brokenly, "please. No more."   
  
Bellamy's lip curls into a snarl. "This is just the beginning, Clarke. Believe me, a little whisky won't hurt."   
  
He takes the glass and tips it up to her lips, raising his eyebrows until she opens her mouth and starts swallowing it down, wincing at the burn.   
  
"It's ok," he murmurs. "I'll give you some water too."   
  
He fills a small glass for her and passes it over, letting her drink it before beckoning her to the bathroom. Abby and some fru-fru interior designer recently renovated it. The tiles are mostly covered with a rich navy rug and gold paint climbs the walls, culminating in a mural of the starry night sky above.   
  
"If you need to come in here to relieve yourself, you ask permission first" Bellamy says pointedly, gesturing toward the toilet.   
  
"What?" Clarke gasps, fingers gripping the edge of the porcelain sink.   
  
"I'll have to determine if you've been a good enough slut to have bathroom privileges," he shrugs. Then he's rummaging in a drawer under the sink, throwing a few things onto the counter before pulling out a jar of Vasoline.   
  
"What's that for?" He hears her gulp. At least she's not totally naive.   
  
"I'm gonna slick up your tits before our company gets here," Bellamy says, glancing at his watch. "Should be any minute now."   
  
He pops open the lid and presses her into the wall next to the door with a strong hand on her waist. Dipping three fingers into the golden waxiness, he reaches into her open shirt and starts rubbing the stuff into her skin, being sure to flick at her nipples with his rough thumb while he works.   
  
Just as he finishes, the doorbell rings.   
  
"Our company is here," Bellamy smiles meanly down at her. The worry wrinkle above her eyebrows is standing at full attention, he notes with pride. "I'm going to get the keys and let him in. Go wait on your knees in the living room."   
  
She wobbles as she goes, and Bellamy watches the jiggle of her ass as he follows behind her. He grabs the key he needs and walks to the front door.   
  
Clarke can hear deep voices filling the empty silence of the house, but she can't tell who it is Bellamy's talking to. Her heart rate's got to be triple its normal speed as the footfalls draw closer and closer, heavy and unceasing.   
  
"Clarke, you remember Mr. King. Say hello."   
  
Her head snaps up. Roan. Her dad's former business partner. He'd been over for dinner countless times. Her mother made him her famous lemon chicken. This. Was. Not. Happening. Roan runs the hand not holding a big paper bag through his wavy, dirty blonde hair and smirks down at her indulgently.   
  
"You filled out nice, Clarke," he says, taking a step closer to stare down the gap in her top at her shining chest.   
  
"What a set of tits on her," he elbows Bellamy in the side, laughing appreciatively. "Can't believe you rubbed them down for me!"   
  
"Don't say I never did anything for you," Bellamy returns.   
  
"How ... how do you know each other?" she stammers, mouth hanging open as fear floods her chest. They're both huge, muscular, strong. They could do anything they wanted to her, and she could never stop them.   
  
Bellamy's face morphs into a scowl and he walks around her, crouching down to smack her ass hard, causing her to cry out and fall forward onto her palms.   
  
"What did I say about following directions?" he rasps, reaching around her front and pulling her upright. He slips a hand beneath her skirt and gives her a sharp rap to her cunt lips too. Little slut needs to learn her place.   
  
"Hello, Mr. King," she says meekly as Bellamy rises.   
  
"Hey, baby," Roan crouches down to her level and places the bag on the carpet beside him. It's full of more alcohol. His warm breath hits her face. It's minty. "We're gonna have so much fun tonight."  
  
He glances back up at Bellamy.   
  
"You check her yet?"   
  
"No, I was saving the honors for you."

* * *

Roan nods.   
  
"SAE for life and all that shit?"   
  
"Frat bros before hoes," Bellamy grins in agreement. "Gotta thank the guy who hooked me up with all this," he lifts his palms upward slightly.   
  
Finally, it clicks in her brain. Roan told Bellamy to pursue her mother. God knows how long they've been planning this. Nausea curdles in her stomach.   
  
"Didn't I tell you little Clarkie here was something else?" Roan husks, reaching under the stretchy fabric to pinch her ass. She yelps and Bellamy feels his cock twitch back to life in his boxers.   
  
"Can I get you a drink, man?" Bellamy asks hospitably.   
  
Roan taps the bag. "I was thinking mojitos like the good old days."   
  
"You got it."   
  
They both turn their attention back to the blonde on the carpet.   
  
"I'll mix them up while you and Clarke get reacquainted." Bellamy's hand curves around Clarke's jaw so tightly it stings. "I expect my slut to obey Mr. King while he's visiting. Yeah?"   
  
Clarke nods her head up and down like he expects.   
  
"Go sit on the couch, Princess," Bellamy tells her. "And spread those legs so you can show Mr. King your pussy."   
  
Clarke rises slowly upward, sitting at the edge of the couch trying to have any helpful thought. But none come. Her mind is just a buzz of white noise. She opens her legs as far as the skirt allows and Roan shuffles over and leans down to examine her. The scruff along his chin rubs rough over her knee. The whisky's making her feel floaty, but the blush still comes.   
  
"A pristine specimen," Roan smiles wide at his friend.   
  
"You always had good taste," Bellamy replies. "So how do you want to do this?"   
  
"Roan shrugs, rising up. "Was thinking I'd ditch the shorts, put her on my lap, feel around?"   
  
"Good place to start."   
  
"I have my phone. For insurance."   
  
"Oh yeah. Definitely a good call."   
  
Clarke watches in silent confusion as Roan removes his shorts and tosses them into a corner. She expects him to sit right down next to her, but he doesn't. He sits a few feet away. It's Bellamy who bends down and lifts her up under her knees and around her shoulders and drops her down strategically on Mr. King's lap, one knee on either side of his muscular thighs.   
  
"Unbutton your blouse, Princess," Bellamy tells her when he pulls away. "Let Mr. King watch those big tits bounce when you move for him."   
  
In slow motion, her hands move to the tie to undo it. "Atta girl," Roan encourages with a smile. The buttons slide away from the plaid, and Bellamy removes the top swiftly.   
  
"These are better than I imagined," he sighs, raising an eyebrow at Bellamy who nods encouragement. "She has to learn," he says. Roan leans forward and licks at her nipple, making Clarke twitch. He latches on to it, groaning a little, big hands circling her waist and holding her securely so she can barely move. The action sends a lightning jolt to her clit that she hates when he begins licking around the areola, nibbling at the softness of her skin. His cock is right below her, hardening already. She shifts backward, trying to get away from the swelling below, but Bellamy's hands encircle the sides of her ass, scooting her forward.   
  
"You're going to rock against it," he tells her sweetly. "Roan wants to check if anything's slid up that pussy before our cocks."   
  
Roan grunts as he moves his hips into her for the first time, releasing her breast with a pop and gripping them both in his hands until she grits her teeth.   
  
"I'm a virgin," she whispers, voice sounding more like she's talking underwater.

* * *

She can see the entire top row of Mr. King's teeth at the words. The Vasoline shines against his lips. Bellamy put on a thin coat and she sees why now - it made his mouth slide around her easily.   
  
"So you say," Bellamy snorts. "But all sluts lie, Princess. We have to make sure."   
  
"Play with her a little. I'll be right back," he tells Roan.   
  
She tries to think about nothing, but it's nearly impossible. Mr. King rolls her hips into his bulge again and again before finally smacking her ass harshly when she falls limp.   
  
"Keep moving, Clarke," he demands. "I didn't say you could stop."   
  
She undulates, not really sure what to do but feeling her stickiness against the cotton of his boxers, whimpering when his thick fingers begin rubbing along her labia and tickling over her clit.   
  
"You're getting wet like the perfect whore, baby. You're so filthy," he whispers against her neck, taking a nip at her collarbone. "Can't wait to watch you get covered in come. Me and Bell and the boys are gonna pump it all over this sexy little body."   
  
The boys. Clarke's body coils up in knots. Surely they wouldn't-  
  
"Who are the boys, Mr. King?" she tries to make her voice soft.   
  
The skin around his eyes crinkles up in lines. "You think I'm going to answer the question of a cumslut while she's getting herself off grinding on my cock?" His chuckle sends blazing fire into her bones. They're going to burn her alive. "You'll do what you're told and you won't ask questions." He brings his face closer to hers, so she can see the ice blue of his irises. "I'll let that slide but one more time, and I'll tell Bell so he can find the right punishment."   
  
"Yo, Bellamy!"   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"Bring a drink for Clarke too!"   
  
"Already on it."   
  
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.   
  
Her mind is active and alive once more, but then she hears Bellamy's footsteps and Roan's pressing down on her clit, causing her to cry out.   
  
"Breaking in our girl?" Bellamy asks, putting Roan's drink down on the table and taking a long swig of his own.   
  
"Oh yeah. Doing my best."   
  
"Has she come yet?"   
  
"Nah. I was saving that for you to see."   
  
"Generous of you."   
  
Clarke continues to move against Roan's hard torso, her eyes shut as something unbidden starts to build and swell low in her pelvis. So she misses the nod Bellamy gives Roan. But she catches his two fingers gathering the gel from her breasts and sliding them down to her opening. The coiling spring dies away.   
  
"Stay still," Roan grits harshly, hand wrapped around the top of her thigh.   
  
She whines when his fingers press inside her insistently, feeling around and stretching her tender walls open. He reaches a little farther and Bellamy's hand begins rubbing her ass, tickling along the crack. "You're moving, Clarke," he says, serious and deadly. "Stay still or I'll hold you down on this couch right now and push my cock up your ass."   
  
"Yes, sir," she breathes and holds herself steady, taking a deep breath to try to relax her muscles.   
  
"There it is," Roan looks delighted. "Untouched."   
  
"Good to know. I think it makes it better," Bellamy says. He reaches for the lime-white mojito and brings it to her quivering mouth. "Drink up, sweetheart. Don't upset me." So she does, a thin stream dribbling down her chin.   
  
"Still want me to get her off?" Roan asks casually, resuming gentle rubbing motions on her clit.   
  
"Yeah. What the hell. But hold on," he reaches for his shorts and picks up his phone. He smiles to himself knowing Clarke's is locked away in her room upstairs and that she can't reach it. "You gave me a good idea. Take her skirt off."  
  
Struggling will get her nowhere, so she lets it leave her body. It's not like it's offering any protection. He turns the setting to video and Roan starts bucking his dick back between Clarke's creamy thighs, rubbing at her clit with purpose.   
  
"Look at the camera, Clarke," Roan says softly to her. "Say my name is Clarke Griffin."   
  
"My name is Clarke Griffin," she repeats in a daze.  
  
"I love getting fucked."   
  
"I love getting fucked," she echoes.   
  
"Because I'm a little whore." 

* * *

"Because ... I'm ... a ... little ... whore," she parrots, panting as Roan pushes his fingers back inside her quivering channel. She's flushed with sweat from her exertion, but he's rubbing higher and higher up the tissue wall until he finds what he's after. When he presses down, she shakes, tits heaving. Bellamy steps closer in with the camera, focuses down between Clarke's legs where Roan's fingers dive in repeatedly. He captures the sloshing noise of her being violated this way for the first time and the expression on her face, all pinched as she pants. 

Roan's about to drive her over the edge. He can tell by the way he wraps his fingers around her hipbone and tugs her closer. He can't have that. Bellamy snaps his fingers. Roan looks at him with a light frown but then Bellamy motions toward the mojito and touches Clarke delicately with two fingers skimming over her lower belly where her bladder lies. She'll be ready to pop soon when they tip more water and the rest of her mojito down her throat. The threat of orgasm will be much more fun then. He's gripped with a sudden urge to make sure she writhes on top of him for the first time. 

Roan pulls his fingers out of Clarke's cunt, smirking at his friend. She gasps lamely. Her eyes open in a daze as he tosses her casually onto her back along the leather couch. 

"Sorry, little slut. No coming for you." 

Bellamy crouches over her, camera still in hand, and tickles his fingers through her pussy hairs. 

"This is your cunt, Clarke. Say it." 

"That's my cunt," she repeats, still shaking from all the energy she wasn't allowed to release. 

"Who does it belong to?" 

A lump rises in Clarke's throat. 

"You," she whispers. 

"Such a good girl," he coos. "You're right. It's mine. Spread your legs wide and let's let the camera see what you're hiding."

She turns her flushed cheek into the pillow. Roan walks around the back of the couch and shifts her upward so her back's in a more upright position. 

"Open up wide. Let Bellamy see that swollen clit that you got rocking against my cock like a nasty girl." 

Roan stretches over her belly and pushes apart her labia with his pointer and ring finger, tapping casually at her clit with his middle while she lurches, panic strumming through her blood. 

"You can't come unless I give you permission, Princess," Bellamy says softly, tracing the phone up her naked form. 

"Clarke, look at me," Roan demands from overhead. She turns to meet his face. "My friend Ontari runs Arkadia's gossip blog. Did you know that?" 

Clarke blinks, confused and foggy from the alcohol. "Earth Daze?" she mumbles. 

"That's right. That's what it's called," Roan praises. "So if you don't do everything Bellamy tells you, I'm gonna make sure these videos we take of you go all over the Internet, ok?" 

It'll ruin her future. Her chance of ever going to college. Of being a doctor. The Griffins are a very old, very wealthy family here. Everyone would care about Jake and Abby's only daughter getting fucked like a whore. It would never go away. It would haunt her for the rest of her life. 

"But we don't want to do that to you, Princess," Bellamy adds, finally putting his phone aside. "So you've got to be on your best behavior." 

Clarke nods, bottom lip trembling. "Ok." There's pressure building low in her belly. She needs to go the bathroom. Knows she needs to ask Bellamy's permission. 

"Is she on the pill?" Roan asks as he takes off his T-shirt, flinging it to a nearby armchair. He's tan with washboard abs, broad and imposing. 

"Dunno," Bellamy says. "You on the pill, Princess?" He lifts her calves up and sits down beneath them, draping them across his lap. 

Clarke's heart starts humming in her ears. Her skin feels hotter in alarm. "N-na-noooh," she stammers, instinctually pressing her thighs tight together. "I haven't had sex." 

Roan lets out a low whistle, sitting on the arm of the chair across from the couch. "What do you think, Bell?" 

Bellamy considers her carefully, cradles her cheek in his rough palm. His eyes roam over her flat belly and full rack. He pokes his finger against her slippery clit just to watch her jump. "I want the full experience."

* * *

Roan stands up and is beside them in three strides. "That's the Blake spirit!" he punches his friend on the shoulder. "If the whore gets knocked up, we'll deal with that later. No reason to spoil the fun." 

  
Despite the light pounding in her head, Clarke cries out "You can't!" at that, trying to get up, but Bellamy springs into action immediately, holding down her hips while Roan slips around the couch and puts pressure on her shoulders. When Bellamy leans closer, she picks up the scent of rum on his breath. "I plan on filling you up with my come," he growls. 

Clarke tries to be docile, calmer, civil. "Sir, please. Think it through. It's not worth it. It's--"

"Not up to you to decide," Roan finishes for her, cupping her breasts from behind and stroking down on her nipples as if she was a cow he wanted to milk. 

She has to get away from them. Has to pee. Has to find her phone. 

"Sir," she gets Bellamy's attention once more, gripping his bicep, wondering why it burns her. "I have go to the bathroom. You said to ask your permission." 

Roan grins at Bellamy from over Clarke's shoulder, his hands still manipulating her tits. It's time. 

"Do you?" Bellamy feigns innocence, lifting an eyebrow. He lifts his head up and to the left and Roan removes his hands from her. Clarke sags in relief. He can see his friend's marks on her skin, and it pisses him off for an irrational reason. "Come sit in my lap, put your back to my chest," he instructs her. Roan helps to maneuver her into place, and he shoots him a look that emphasizes _gently_. They can't go banging her up beyond repair.Clarke's hair smells like strawberries pressed up against his nose. He flattens his foot on the floor and begins rhythmically jilting it. The flat of his palm digs lightly at the expanse of skin below her belly button. Clarke twitches and shakes. 

"Sir, please! I have to go."  

He laughs in her ear, enjoying her shiver. 

Bellamy slides his fingers lower, runs them back and forth along the seam of her pussy, taking extra care to apply pressure to her bladder when he flicks at her puffy clit. 

"I'll let you go if you agree to something first, Clarke," he rasps. "Roan and I want your first time to be special. We want to take you together." 

Roan had asked him a week ago about it, practically begged. 

"What does that mean?" Clarke asks. 

He knows she's playing dumb. With all those male friends, there's no way they haven't watched porn together in someone's dirty basement. 

"It means one of us shoves his cock up your virgin cunt and the other pushes into your ass at the same time," Roan supplies. 

* * *

"No no no no no no no," Clarke says repeatedly. Bellamy picks up a glass of water from the side table and brings it up to her lips insistently. "Calm down. Drink," he says coldly. 

"If you agree, you can piss right now and we won't come inside you ... tonight," Bellamy finishes. 

"I don't want to," Clarke gurgles through the mouthful of water Bellamy pushes on her. He starts rubbing around her entrance, pleased when it makes her next words higher-pitched. 

"What's my other choice?" He watches a few of her muscles jump under the skin. She really has to go. 

"She's a smart one," Roan laughs, a deep sound coming from his chest. 

"If you don't cooperate, we'll take you upstairs to you bed and fuck you until you piss all over your Princess sheets like an animal." 

Roan licks his lower lip and Bellamy nods for him to continue. 

"We'll both come inside your pussy, Clarke." 

They watch her shiver and try to breathe as their words sink in. 

"When we make you come--" Bellamy traces his hands back up her belly to flick her nipples before laying a possessive hand at the base of her throat. Clarke gasps. "And no doubt we'll make you come because whores like you always come-- then you know what we'll do?" 

Clarke shakes her head no. 

"We'll take you into the bathroom and take turns pissing on you because you like being so disgusting. Then I'll put the biggest plug I have up your ass to remind you we could've gone easier on you if you just would've listened to us." 

Clarke starts to cry, tiny blubbering noises. He doesn't bother asking Roan to get a tissue. "You're not avoiding anal anyway, Clarke," Roan chimes in gleefully. "Sunday all our friends are coming here to watch the Daytona race, and Bellamy will tell you to screw them in any position they want." 

Clarke's head whips around at this words, eyes narrowing accusatorially at Bellamy. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Yes, he hates her but this is-

"It's true, Princess. We'll have cocks in all your hungry holes. So what'll it be?" 

The only thought that keeps flying through her brain is she can't have anyone's cock up her ass. She's seen Bellamy's, felt Roan's harden beneath her and they're both too big. Way too big. 

Roan splays a palm across her belly and begins rubbing his thumb over the ridge of her clit. "We need an answer, little slut," he says kindly though his eyes darken with blackness. 

"The second one." Clarke mumbles, almost incoherently. 

Roan's hand actually pauses in its sticky play. Bellamy hisses out the breath he was holding and scoops her up into his arms the next moment, making his way to the stairs.

* * *

Clarke clings to Bellamy like a frightened koala, knees around his waist and face tucked into his neck. He runs his fingers up and down her spine, muttering nonsense soothing words to her that won't matter in the grand scheme of things anyway.   
  
"Please don't do this," she's murmuring, her salty tears running down his back. "Bellamy, please. This isn't who you are."   
  
The use of his name stirs something inside him to life. He catches Roan's eye. His friend just sighs as they reach the landing. Roan knows a lost cause when he sees one. He shrugs a shoulder, turns his palm upward as if to say, 'whatever you want to do.'   
  
"You want to make a different deal, Princess?" Bellamy murmurs into her blonde waves, hating himself just a little bit.   
  
Clarke draws back her head to stare at him with wide eyes. "Yes, sir. Please. Please, sir."   
  
Roan, always attuned, slips his hand into the gap she created and pushes two fingers into her impossibly tight cunt laid bare by her position. Bellamy senses Clarke's legs tightening around him at the sensation, hears her tiny intake of breath. He has a surge of pity run through him, and he doesn't like it. But this is her first time. They can't overdo it if this is going to last.   
  
"All right, ok. Let me think," Bellamy pretends to puzzle over options as Roan draws back against the wall. "You can go to the bathroom now, but we still come inside your pussy. It's your first time, and fair's fair. But if I let you go to the toilet now, you'll let all my friends take your ass without complaint Sunday."   
  
Clarke hiccups but remains mute. Good, she's learning.  
  
"You still wear the plug tonight to sleep because you need to start getting stretched. And no breakfast or lunch tomorrow." He catches Roan's smirk out of the corner of his eye before he schools it. "You'll drink my come instead."   
  
Clarke's angry eyes seem ready to strike him dead, yet she nods, knowing when she's been beaten. "Yes, sir."   
  
Bellamy drops her to the floor and she looks relieved, staggering briefly on the plush carpet before regaining her balance. She tries to make a beeline for the bathroom, but Roan catches her around the waist and drags her back into his hard bulge to grind against his cock.  
  
"Not so fast," he grunts. "You're not desperate enough yet. Get on your hands and knees."   
  
Clarke complies and Roan lightly snaps the waistband of his own boxers, pointing to Bellamy then motioning to Clarke's ivory rose ass up in the air. Smirking, Bellamy slips the head of his cock free and crouches down behind her, knocking her knees apart wider with one of his and teasing her opening before bumping against her clit.   
  
Clarke glares back over her shoulder at him, horrified. "You said only after I peed!" she argues.   
  
"Just making sure you're paying attention," he bites back. But then he's up, pushing himself back into his boxers and unlocking the bathroom door. He sits down on the toilet lid, legs spread wide and looks to Clarke expectantly. She's blinking up at Roan in confusion.   
  
"One more thing," Bellamy strokes his fingers over the softness of her white stomach. "I want you to come doing a lap dance for me first. If you don't piss, it's a deal. If you do, we're gonna pin you between us and fuck you raw from both ends."   
  
Clarke chokes back a sob. But she is obedient. She crawls up into his lap, angling herself so his dick will hit her clit with each stroke of her hips like she practiced with Roan. He keeps himself perfectly still. The only things that move are his eyes, watching her breasts sway. Her fuzzy brain realizes that's part of it; she has to excite him. She weaves her fingers into the hair on the back of his neck and draws his mouth to her breast, letting him suckle her while she humps him more insistently. His tongue is scratchy and abrasive but when he twirls it around her nipples, a fire ignites between her thighs that she'd prefer to ignore. He smells like suntan lotion.    
  
"A born whore," Roan says quietly opening the cabinet and pulling something out she can't see. Her bladder is near bursting. It's the white-hot agony of a million pinpricks deep in her gut. She jolts against Bellamy when Roan's cool finger rubs over her asshole a few times. "Keep going," Bellamy demands, pinching her tit to draw her back. "Focus on me." Roan starts pressing his finger inside her and it hurts, burns, shimmers through her body with electric pain.


	2. Chapter 2

"Calm down," Roan snaps. "You'll have to take much worse than this. Get used to it."   
  
  
  
"Come, Princess," Bellamy urges, reaching for her chin with his fingertips to keep her attention on his dark eyes, the collection of freckles across his nose. His hair is curling from the sweat sticking to it. "Come with his finger in your ass."   
  
  
  
And she does. She spasms and shakes on Bellamy's lap like a girl possessed.   
  
  
  
"Very good," Bellamy rubs her damp clit through the twitches, ignoring her protests as if he were completely deaf to them.   
  
  
  
"Did she piss?" Roan questions.   
  
  
  
"Nah, she held it," Bellamy returns. He can't help but feel a little proud. He stands up with her still in his arms and puts her on her feet, motioning to the toilet. It's humiliating to have to go in front of them, but she has no choice. She pees, accepts the toilet tissue Roan hands her, flushes and washes her hands. Bellamy presses himself against her ass when she's bent over the sink.   
  
  
"Are you excited to feel my cock inside you?" he asks, staring dead into her eyes in the mirror. 

She will not show weakness. She will not. Her body is so pale beside his, hair shock white blonde against the inkiness of his. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? It'd make this better for you?"

He narrows his eyes at her but she sees the smirk he can't contain, and it confuses her.    
  
Roan's playing back the videos so far as they walk across the expansive second floor to the bedroom Bellamy shares with Abby. "There's all kinds of ways to edit the footage to cut us out and still make her look like the world's biggest cumslut," he promises Bellamy, clapping him on the back. "McCreary's guy Shaw can work on it."   
  
He just grunts.   
  
She thinks they'll let her breathe in the bedroom, but they don't. Bellamy drops her on her back on the fluffy light blue comforter covered in soft roses and crawls right over her flailing body, tits bouncing. He makes her pull down his boxers before kicking them off and pinning her hands above her head. He knows he's not going to last long, but he's rock hard and needs to get inside her wet walls to feel her tight heat squeezing him dry.   
  
  
  
Her big blue eyes blink and tear as she stares up at him, finally truly afraid. She puts up a small fight trying to twist away. He simply clicks his tongue. "I'm just giving you a little bit at a time. Take the head first." It's almost a whisper. The touch of his head to her slit makes her mouth fall open; it's already red and wet from her grinding on it a few minutes before. When he breaches her entrance for the first time, nudging his way into her slick heat, she wails while he groans in pure pleasure. At long last, he's fucking the princess.   
  
  
  
Clarke's fingernails dig into his biceps.   
.   
  
  
"Head's the narrowest part, Clarke," Mr. King laughs from where he sits at the edge of the bed. "Every time he pulls out and pushes back in, it's gonna open you up more."   
  
  
  
He's right. It's a pinching pain like she's getting ripped in half when Bellamy pulls back and thrusts his hips forward into her pelvis a little more aggressively the second time.   
  
  
  
"Pop her cherry," Roan husks. "Go on. Make her scream." He keeps the camera close on their bodies coming together, grips onto Clarke's knee to hold it open so he can get a great shot of Bellamy's dark dick sliding home before he flashes it up to her flushed tits and tear-streaked face.   
  
  
  
"It'll only hurt for a minute," Bellamy tells her. "I'll let your hands go as soon as I do it." 

* * *

When he bursts through the flimsy skin, she gets the impression he's trying to do it as smoothly as possible. Still, she cries out. One second she's yelling because her pussy's on fire with the stinging stretch, and the next Bellamy's mouth is on top of hers, forcing her quiet with his tongue. He holds himself in place inside her, coaxing her to settle down with the firm pressure of his lips and gentle stroking of his hand on the side of her breast. He tastes like limes. The gesture shocks her. She doesn't know what to do with mentally. Her body does though. It takes a moment to sample his taste before he's pulled away.    
  
  
  
"Quiet," he whispers in her ear. "This was always going to hurt. It'll get better. Your body will like it more every time I fuck you. Can you be good for me?"   
  
  
  
She bites her lip, sniffles, nods.   
  
  
  
He gets into a steady rhythm after that, pulling out a few inches and then shoving a bit more of his cock inside her perfectly hot channel. She grips at him without even knowing it probably, hugs his cock in deeper and deeper until the mushroom head is nearly kissing her cervix and she’s whimpering below him at the unbearable stretch, holding him so tight around his ribs.   
  
  
  
“Wanted to show you you could take it all like a proper whore,” he grins down at her.   
  
  
  
“Please, sir… please,” her head is lolling back and forth on the pillow. He takes the opportunity to kiss her neck.   
  
  
  
“What baby? You ready for my come?"  
  
  
  
“No!” she yells, eyes jerking open.   
  
  
  
He ignores her. Bellamy latches his mouth onto her nipple, squeezing the other while his fingers play with her clit. "Come on my cock, Princess. Come on, pull me into this tight little body."   
  
  
  
Roan catches every moment walking around the bed, knowing his friend will want to play it back over and over again. He strokes himself, thinks to join in but Bell’s in another world, maybe somewhere in oxygen-deprived space. There’s just the steady smack of skin on skin filling the room and Bellamy’s grunts mixing with Clarke's flustered moans. His back glistens with sweat, but she runs her tiny hand over it anyway, swirling it around as she finally seems to be accepting what's happening to her. Until--  
  
  
  
"Please don’t come inside," Clarke gasps. "Please don’t."   
  
  
  
Bellamy smacks the fleshy side of her ass he can reach, and she writhes.   
  
  
  
"I don't take my orders from you," he growls, pulsing into her a moment later, back arching as sensations of pure bliss coast over his body like crashing waves. He bites back a grin when she follows suit. Yeah, he knew it.    
  
  
  
"What do you say?" Roan coaxes immediately, coming forward to push hair from her eyes while Bellamy draws back to stare down at her heaving tits and flushed, swollen pussy lips with satisfaction. A short river of his come is already dripping out of her "Thank you, sir," she gasps.   
  
  
  
She tries to roll over into a ball on her side, but Roan steps in and flattens her back to the mattress. "Not so fast, Clarkie. I got to get some pictures of that come dripping out of you."   
  
  
  
She closes her eyes as she feels her legs being pulled apart and the clicks of the camera button.   
  
  
  
"So perfect," she hears Bellamy hiss.  
  
  
  
Her system reacts when she two wide fingers push back into her hole, scooping up the fluids mixing there. Bellamy climbs back on top of her, bringing them to her closed mouth.   
  
  
  
"Open up, Princess," he sings. "You need to practice for tomorrow." 

* * *

They don’t give her a moment to relax. Bellamy pulls her up into his lap and pinches the shaky thigh she tries to pull closed to protect herself. "Whores don't close their legs, Clarke. Roan's got to take his turn."   
  
  
  
Roan eyes her dripping slit hungrily, pushing down his boxers and Clarke shivers. He’s not longer than Bellamy, but he is a little thicker.   
  
  
  
"Ask him nicely to fuck your pussy."   
  
  
  
"Please fuck my pussy, Mr. King."   
  
  
  
Roan crawls onto the bed and sits cross legged, veiny cock at attention. Bellamy passes over her limp body, tired and spent.   
  
  
  
"Slide your pussy over the head and sink down," he encourages. The width of the head is enormous, and she protests as it tears into her, despite having been stretched by Bellamy already. She fights to get up using her knees as leverage.   
  
  
  
"No baby," Roan clicks his tongue and smiles at her, gripping her hips, pressing them down so another hot inch of his cock forces its way inside her body. "I set the pace, not you." Bellamy laughs lowly until Roan drags her down, and he sees the tears leaking from her eyes. He schools himself. He needs to focus. "You're all wet from Bell. You can take it," Roan encourages.   
  
  
  
He sets a quick pace, lifting her high then dropping her back down, so his cock hits home each time. He knows he’s made contact with her g-spot when she makes stuttering, incoherent noises. He nods to Bellamy when he feels her starting to slowly quiver and pulse around him.   
  
  
  
"Ask Mr. King nicely to pump his hot come in your little snatch," Bellamy leans across the bed and whispers into her ear, taking light hold of her right breast while biting the side of her neck. She arches her head away from him, but he’s relentless. "Say fill me with your thick cream, Mr. King."   
  
  
  
"Please sir, no more," Clarke says with eyelashes fluttering.   
  
  
  
"Tell him now or you sleep with the plug up your ass and a dildo in your cunt." Roan chokes back a laugh. 

 

Clarke shakes, and Bellamy runs his hand back and forth against her shoulder blades. "Go on. Be my good girl."   
  
  
  
"Please fill me with your thick cream, Mr. King."   
  
  
  
Roan groans, lifts off his knees and presses her into the pillows, suffocating her with his bulk and sweaty musk. She can’t see the ceiling anymore. He thrusts deep, deeper then starts to shoot his come into her as her cunt pulses around him. Bellamy watches the ecstasy on his face.   
  
  
  
Roan surprises her by yanking back after a moment, decorating her belly and breasts with the gooey mess, a splash landing on her cheek and one across her nose and mouth. Clarke goes to push it away, but Bellamy stops her, hand wrapping around her wrist. "Dirty sluts stay in the messes they make. Now thank Mr. King for coming inside you."   
  
  
  
She splutters her gratitude.   
  
  
  
"My pleasure, Clarke.’ He brings the slimy tip of his softening cock to her lips and Bellamy nods when her eyes find his. "Taste his come on your tongue," he commands.

* * *

"God, that was great. Thanks, man," Roan groans, stretching out to pinch Clarke's nipple one last time as he gets off the bed to find his boxers. "Got tons of great footage. But we'll get more Sunday, don't worry."   
  
"Absolutely," Bellamy smirks at his friend, running a heavy palm up Clarke's goosebump-covered thigh. "I think it's time to rinse off this sticky pussy in the shower, hmmm, Princess?"  
  
Clarke hiccups and turns her face away.   
  
"Bring me up some vodka, would you?" Bellamy asks his friend.   
  
"Sure thing."   
  
As soon as he's gone, Bellamy grabs Clarke's hand and pulls her upright next to the bed.   
  
"I'm very disappointed, Clarke," he says, eyes darkening.   
  
She blinks up at him, crossing her arms over her chest in an X pattern as if that's going to do something.   
  
"W-Why?"   
  
"You're a slut, Clarke," he grips her shoulders and leans down so their faces are on level with each other. His breath is hot on her face. "And sluts happily take come up their cunts. I don't ever want to see you arguing with me or anybody else I let fuck you about that ever again, is that clear?" He grips her chin and holds her roughly. "You should be thankful for any drop of come that lands in or on your body."   
  
"Yes, sir," Clarke returns, legs starting to wobble. A glob of come is threatening to slip out of her pussy. Somehow it catches Bellamy's notice. "You're so filthy," he spits as he walks to his dresser and pulls out swim trunks.   
  
Roan returns with a couple of shot glasses and a bottle of vodka.   
  
"Great," Bellamy acknowledges. "I think I need some alone time with her. Instill a few more things" He speaks like Clarke's not there. "Made you a spare key to get you in and out," he walks into his massive closet where Clarke knows he keeps his safe and returns with a key in hand, tossing it to Roan.   
  
"You thought of everything," Roan grins.   
  
"You can see why."   
  
"Oh yeah. She's a handful," He swats at her ass one more time sharply before walking through the door.   
  
Clarke yelps.   
  
"Can't wait for my cock to be between those cheeks. 'Night, Clarkie," Roan waves.   
  
Bellamy pulls her down with him on the edge of the bed as soon as he's gone, situating her over his knees. "That was only a preview."   
  
The first slap hits the fleshiest section of her right cheek, making her calves curl up toward her back. He marvels at the instant pink it brings to her skin tone while she whimpers beneath him. "Oh you can take more than that, baby," Bellamy rubs his knuckles next to her ear before hitting her harder on the opposite cheek. She hisses but stays limp. He runs a hand up and down the ridges of her spine before raising his right hand and slapping the same spot he hit the first time.   
  
"Oooohhhhh," Clarke moans, shifting slightly.   
  
He presses down hard on her lower back. "Stay still, my little whore," he hisses. "Seven more since this is the first time. Next time it'll be twenty."   
  
By the time he allows her up again, her skin smarts and burns. Bellamy flashes her his teeth. "That's gonna make the butt plug a little harder to take for sure. But this'll help--"  
  
He pours her a fresh shot of the clear fluid and hands it over. "Bottoms up," he laughs at his own stupid joke.   
  
Clarke wraps her thin fingers around the shot glass, knowing she has no choice but to swallow. Even after all she's drank, it can't disconnect her from the aching sensations taking up residence in her body.   
  
"I'm gonna be nice and get the lube," Bellamy tells her, pushing her toward the bathroom door and following close behind. "Even though you don't deserve it."   
  
He enters the wide shower covered in small, multicolored stones with a bottle of lube and a silver contraption with a jewel pink heart at its base that he pulled from a cabinet. He knows he can't push her to the brink, doesn't want to really hurt her. But there's something about it as she steps under the spray and begins washing her body clean at his instruction while droplets of water pebble on her breasts and glide over her belly button that just makes him lose it a little.  
  
"All right, enough," he says when he can't watch the sudsy cloth slide over her legs one more time. "Bend over and grab the door rail."   
  
Clarke hears the snap of a bottle, and her blood runs cold.  


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke starts making whimpering noises. She can't help herself as the warm water splashes down her back.  
  
Bellamy comes up behind her and rubs at her hipbone. "Shhhh. It won't be bad if you just relax." His fingers are cold with the gel and make her jolt when they come in contact with the puckered pink of her asshole. He just keeps rubbing around her hip and slides one finger inside very slowly.   
  
"There you go," his voice is melodic. She can feel his dick hardening again along the side of her ass, and it makes her dizzy. "Bet you never thought anyone would touch you here, Princess."   
  
He chuckles and slides all the way back out again before teasing her opening with two of his fingertips. "Gonna start stretching you now," he husks, and she gasps loudly at the pulsing burn of two of his thick fingers pressing against her hot walls intent to expel him.   
  
"You're doing good. So good and dirty for me," Bellamy leans forward to kiss the back of her neck where it's exposed. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock."   
  
"Oooohhhh," Clarke moans brokenly. She rises to to the very tips of her toes, trying to get out of reach when the third finger begins poking between her cheeks.   
  
"No, no, none of that." Bellamy slides his calloused palm up her ribs and cups at her breast, tapping two fingers rapidly along her nipple to fully harden it. "Touch your little clit for me, Clarke. Play with yourself. I want you to feel good."   
  
She brings a shaking hand to the marble swollen nub and starts to roll her forefinger around it, hating herself for the gush of moisture seeping through her pussy a minute later. "That's my good whore," Bellamy praises, and just like that, three fingers push inside. She cries out, and he pulls her hair into a ponytail with his fist. "Just take it," he bites into her ear before beginning to move them faster and faster within her.   
  
Clarke's spinning like she's ridden a merry-go-round too fast, body climbing higher and higher toward a peak she doesn't want when he pulls his fingers completely out of her. He crouches down, hot breath on her ass cheek and pries her apart, examining the hole he created. "That'll work."   
  
The plug isn't as cold as she expected, and he works it in slow, pulling it in and out a couple times just to give her an extra jolt before stepping away.   
  
"Ok, all done," he turns her around to him by the arm and shuts the water off, reaching for a towel to give her.   
  
Clarke shuffles into the bedroom ten minutes later naked, to see Bellamy propped up on pillows in his bed. "Here," he flings one of his old T-shirts at her and pats the space beside him.   
  
"Yes, sir," she murmurs and pulling it on, crawls into bed, plug tunneling inside her body with a dull ache.   
  
"Now kiss me goodnight," he says when she settles on her side. He's already running his fingers across her belly, flirting with the blondish hairs peeking out below the hem of the shirt.   
  
Clarke's eyebrows raise in surprise, but there's nothing to do but settle closer to him. She lays a hand on his chest and arches up to press her mouth to his. He tastes like his toothpaste. She expects roughness, for him to grip her jaw or slap her ass. But he works his tongue very slowly along her lower lip until she opens to him, kisses her carefully before pulling her into his chest to sleep.

* * *

In the morning, she wakes up to an empty bed. The smell of eggs, bacon and pancakes carries her down into the kitchen. Bellamy's stacking a plate full of mouthwatering items and sliding it into his spot at the table where fruit, coffee and juice already wait.   
  
"Sir, can I please use the bathroom?" she asks quietly.   
  
"Morning, Princess," he pushes the hair out of his eyes. "Sure. "  
  
Grateful, she scampers off to the bathroom before returning to the kitchen. She can't sit down on the plug but is desperately hungry from all the alcohol they pushed on her yesterday. Her head mildly throbs.   
  
"Sir," she rubs the bottom of her right foot up her left leg. "Would you take it out now?"  
  
"Take out what?" Bellamy feigns innocence.   
  
"The plug."   
  
"And where is that plug?"   
  
"In my ass."   
  
He bites his lip, leaning into the counter and considering her for a moment. "I think it needs to stay in a bit longer."   
  
Her face falls.   
  
"Can I eat standing up then?" she asks through an embarassing rumble of her stomach.  
  
"Don't you remember, Princess," Bellamy settles into his seat and reaches for a piece of bacon. "You're eating my come for breakfast and lunch." He gestures toward the tile floor before pushing down his boxers. "Now come crawl between my legs and start sucking."   
  
Bellamy leaves her alone all morning, letting her watch Netflix on the couch in the living room without the plug up her ass. He brings her two small glasses of water but otherwise ignores her until just after noon when he enters the room again.   
  
"Kneel at my feet, baby," he tells her. He's showered now, hair slicked back with water and deceptively straight. He's wearing nice dark jeans and a hunter green henley with a few buttons popped at the top where she can see his chest hair.   
  
Clarke moves to obey and looks up at him when she's in position. "I have a new outfit for you," he runs the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip and reaches for a bag she didn't notice before beside the armchair.   
  
"I ordered pizza for lunch," he says, slowly pulling out a light blue and white-checked piece of fabric and holding it up. It's some sick twist on Dorothy's dress from the Wizard of Oz except its more apron than anything else. Two thick shoulder straps end in big white buttons around where her nipples would be, and it's just a super short front piece with sheer side fabric.   
  
"It came with lacy panties," Bellamy says, "But I didn't think you needed those. You're going to give the pizza guy an extra tip." He grins rabidly at her.   
  
Clarke freezes and stares up at him with her ocean eyes in distress. "Bellamy," she forgets herself and grips at his thigh, shaking her head. "Don't make me. Please."   
  
He grins down at her, all teeth, before yanking her up at the waist, pulling her shirt off over her head and pushing her over the side of the leather couch so her nipples grate against it abrasively with each smack to her ass.   
  
"I warned you about disobeying. Now count them out," he growls and doesn't stop until he hits twenty, leaving her a shuddering mess.   
  
When he's finished, he retrieves a lotion from the bathroom, taking his time to rub it into the fiery marks.

"Don't make me hurt you again," he urges. He's such a good actor she almost believes he doesn't want to. 

The plastic gift bag rustles again, and Clarke's breath catches. She can't see what's going on from her position facing the wide windows overlooking the backyard pool. Bellamy pulls her upright by the belly, and slips the apron over her head, fastening it with a string at her back. Turning her to face him, she sees he's holding something hot pink in his hands. It's shaped like a funny oval, one end thicker than the other, and it has a rounded tip jutting out in the middle.   
  
"Know what this is?" Bellamy gestures for her to lay down on the overlarge cushions.   
  
She has a good guess.   
  
"A vibrator?"   
  
"Such a smart slut," he praises, pressing something at its base to make it hum. He sits down cross-legged in front of her, pulling her ankles apart to expose the blush of her cunt. "Oh baby, spanking really does turn you on," he grits, gliding a finger over the fluid pooling at her lips. "This is going to make you really drip before he gets here though." 

* * *

Bellamy doesn't play games. He just grips the toy's base and presses it steadily between her legs until the tip is snuggled up against her g-spot, pressing in so she feels the urge to pee again. She catches on immediately to its design as the section jutting out from the middle nestles against her clit. Bellamy presses something at the base that sends low, pulsing waves of vibration through the toy and into her body.   
  
"Ahhhhhh," she cries out, scrambling to grip at the couch.   
  
"That's nothing," Bellamy scoffs, pressing it to the next level where a dull pulse like a drum rocks into her over and over again.   
  
The buzz at her clit is painfully glorious, and she begins rolling her hips against the thick bright pink silicone as if her body is carried away with itself. Bellamy scoots closer to her and kicks the toy up to its next level.   
  
"Fucking it all on your own now ... good girl," he sighs, crawling over her to stuck a nipple into his mouth while keeping one wrist gently pressing the vibrator in and out of her cunt. Her face burns with the sloshy noises she can hear. Muscles she was unaware of before are gripping tighter and tighter. Something tingles down low in her spine and a fluttering feeling is coming from what feels like the hollow of her pussy.   
  
Bellamy whispers things into the skin around her collarbone she can't really hear. She makes out "so soft" and "lucky" until finally his finger pushes into her clit and rubs harshly. She clenches the toy tight between her thighs, gasping for breath and shuddering as all strength leaves her body. It goes on and on and on, pulsing through her.   
  
"You're just a dream come true, Clarke," he whispers into her ear before reaching down to pull the toy out. He leaves her there, trying to remember her life 48 hours ago, and heads to his elaborate sound system. Soon he's turned up some club rap with a beat that reaches the bones just as the bell rings.   
  
"That's my pizza," he grins, pulling her up by the hand. "Stand up and dance to it," he orders. "I'll be right back with him."   
  
Her heart is beating so hard that it might come out of her chest when he arrives back in the room with guy a few years older than her. He's got midnight hair and a longer face and looks throughly confused holding his pizza box until his eyes land on Clarke.   
  
"Atom," Bellamy claps him on the shoulder and removes the pizza box from his hands, setting it on the kitchen table. "I thought you'd like to dance with her instead of the usual tip. Sound good?"   
  
Atom's face lights up like it's Christmas and his birthday combined.   
  
"Are you serious?" he stutters over the words.   
  
"I am," Bellamy meets Clarke's eyes for a long moment. "I want you to grind on her, but you can only touch her where she's not covered."   
  
Bellamy crosses his arms over his broad chest and rocks his head slowly to the beat while Atom swiftly moves behind Clarke. The apron is so short he can easily leave his palms latched to her upper thighs. The tough material of his grey uniform pants chafes her sore ass, but he keeps her pressed tight against him, forcing her hips back into his over and over while he noses at her neck. His touch feels lighter than Bellamy's but also not as grounding. She pushes the thought out of her head at once when Atom's fingertips drift higher up her leg to the hem of the joke of an apron.   
  
"I bet you can smell her," Bellamy calls from the wall. "I just had a vibrator up her cunt. She had an orgasm like a whore, went on forever."   
  
"Is that right?" Atom manages. She feels his dick jump at her back.   
  
"You can feel if you want," Bellamy says casually.

Clarke shoots daggers at him, but he winks at her.   
  
Atom groans, fingers quick to reach her curls and push them aside to feel the slick liquid.   
  
"Spread your legs more, Clarke," Bellamy demands. "Be hospitable. We have company."

* * *

 

She tries to disconnect, letting her head fall back on the strange boy's shoulder, opening her legs so his fingers can slide into her pussy and his thumb can maneuver her tender clit back and forth. Her mouth puckers and her forehead wrinkles when he thrusts into the space so recently filled by the vibrator, but she knows she can't show weakness.   
  
A little crest of a wave is streaking through her blood when Bellamy abruptly calls an end to it by switching off the music. Atom seems stunned but accepts his payment for the pizza and with one last glance over his shoulder at Clarke, he's ushered to the door.   
  
"I loved watching your tits shake when he fingered you," Bellamy tells her when he returns, pressing his body into hers. He puts a hand on the small of her back and whispers into her ear, "Kneel by the couch please."   
  
She does as she's asked, trying to ignore the little throb of her clit left in the lurch by pressing her thighs harder together. The clank of a glass full of coke and dull thud of the pizza box hitting the table near her head and alerts her Bellamy's back. He settles onto the couch while she waits at his feet, flipping through TV channels until he lands on a historical drama. When he opens the pizza box, the aroma of sauce and cheese hits her full on, making her stomach growl. He takes his time, with the food, dangling it over his mouth and making grumbles of appreciation with each bite. Finally, he catches her jaw with his oily fingers, rubbing a smear into her cheek. "I didn't forget about you, Princess." He unzips his pants and pulls her forward between his legs by the back of her neck. "You know what to do if you want to get fed." 

Maybe his orgasm was a particularly strong one, and his cloudy mind lost its grasp for a moment. She doesn't know. But after he comes down her throat, Bellamy pulls her up and stretches out on the couch, taking her with him against his chest. Her eyes glaze over in boredom - she likes comedies - as Bellamy plays with the tips of her hair. He leaves her two slices of pizza. That does catch her attention despite her fear. She glances over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow at him. 

"Dinner reservation's late," he grunts. "Eat. Don't eat. I don't care."  

*   
  
"Welcome to Nia's Lounge."   
  
The woman is tall with rich brown, glossy hair and smoky brown eyes. Her mouth is pink and pouty, and she's wearing a sexy black dress and strappy sandals. Her smile gets wider at the hostess stand when she sees Bellamy though her eyes show a touch of confusion when they take in Clarke.   
  
Clarke feels shame unlike anything she's ever known before. She stands beside Bellamy, tucked into his side with his hand at her hip. He had given her a dress for their Saturday night dinner out, but it was nude. Like the color of her skin nude. It had itsy bitsy spaghetti straps, a loose neckline and hit at mid-thigh. Underwear was forbidden, but he'd allowed her a halter bra.   
  
"Mr. Blake, how nice to see you," the woman is looking at him like she's planning to climb his body like a tree.   
  
"Always a pleasure, Echo," he says charmingly. His tan skin glows in the low light of the restaurant, just the faint sheen of freckles visible. Yes, objectively, he's attractive. Clarke had never given his body any thought before this weekend started, and now it's constantly at the forefront of her mind with him pressing her into it at every opportunity.   
  
"I'd like the corner booth in the back room, please. I called in advance."   
  
Echo grins, not even bothering to glance down at the reservation book in front of her on the stand. "Anything for my favorite VIP," she croons.   
  
They're led through a dark, fancy restaurant lit with small, golden lights high above. The tables are spaced far apart and contain many curved, royal blue booths along the walls. Candelabras flicker on dividing barriers between them, and scenes of ice blue mountains are painted along certain stretches of the walls. Wrought iron twisted into elaborate patterns also seems to be a popular decoration.   
  
Bellamy sits down first and nods for her to sit next to him, closer to the edge of the booth. At first it's almost normal. Bellamy tells her to order whatever she wants off the menu, and she picks steak and truffle fries with mixed vegetables. It's all delicious, and all he does is casually stroke her thigh from time to time. He tells her about the plot of his novel and asks about what classes she'll take in the fall. It's a complete mind fuck, really, how attentive he is, making sure she gets the right kind of creamy horseradish and telling her to order the chocolate molten lava cake in advance so it will be ready in time for dessert.   
  
She should have known that wouldn't last.


	4. Chapter 4

Their seating was late, 8 p.m., so by the time Clarke is tasting the liquid sweetness on her tongue, the lounge is darkening further and dance music starts kicking up lowly from a room nearby. That's when her nerves swerve into hyperdrive again as the thought crosses her mind they might not be leaving anytime soon.   
  
"Come sit in my lap, Princess," Bellamy says when she's set down her fork. He puts a hand on her hip and drives her forward, so her exposed pussy ruts into his thigh. As she rolls forward, his other hand slides down the skin of her back to snap open her bra, pulling it off and leaving it on the seat.   
  
"Sir, what are you doing?" she asks as she notices a woman two tables over throw a dirty glance their way.   
  
"You'll see."   
  
Her water class is low, and she notices their waiter, Carl, a few tables over. Bellamy flags him down. Clarke tries to pull at the bottom of her short dress, but Bellamy bites at her neck. "Leave it."   
  
"Yes, sir?" Carl glances down at Clarke but politely schools his smirk. "What can I get for you and the lady?"   
  
"Some more water please," Bellamy requests. "And a fresh glass of the merlot with the bill."   
  
"Right away," Carl nods and returns with a pretty silver pitcher and red wine on a tray. "Draw the drape too, will you, Carl?" Bellamy asks.   
  
"Ah, yes, sure," Carl responds silkily, setting it down and reaching toward a button on the wall Clarke missed earlier that sends the velvet blue curtain at her side zipping across an electric track on the ceiling. It half-conceals their table, at least from the busier side of the restaurant and the woman's prying eyes.   
  
"Hold up your glass for him, Princess," Bellamy coos in her ear. Her stomach is in knots as she does what he requests. There's a bit of sweat gathering at her hairline despite her skimpy outfit.   
  
Carl's smirk widens as he pours the water and ice into the glass with a satisfying clink. "Now hold your tits out for him, too," Bellamy rasps. Clarke bites her lip. She arches her back, so the fleshy ivory globes rise up higher.   
  
"They'd look better wet, wouldn't they, Carl?" Bellamy asks innocently, tightening his grip at her waist as if anticipating her movement.   
  
"Absolutely, sir," Carl's eyes sparkle dangerously as he brings the pitcher over her breasts and splashes the cold water there instead.   
  
Clarke gasps, instantly the paper thin material becomes see through and sticks to her skin, exposing her breasts and rosy nipples to the waiter.   
  
"You can touch them," Bellamy encourages.   
  
Carl wastes no time bringing his groping hands up to pinch at her tits while Clarke quells the cry in her throat. She tries to go limp, to fall back onto the sturdiness of Bellamy. "You like it when I show you off like a whore, don't you, baby?" he asks when Carl squeezes tighter.   
  
"Yes, sir," she mumbles, and Bellamy kisses her temple.   
  
"Great pair of tits," Carl draws back with a small smile. "You're lucky," he tells Bellamy.   
  
Bellamy inclines his head.   
  
"Thank you, Carl. That will be all."   
  
As the waiter walks away, Bellamy fishes a fresh piece of ice out of Clarke's glass and slips it down past her dress to slide over her cunt lips. She twitches in his arms.   
  
"Be good for me," he urges, before pressing it inside her hot tightness.   
  
Her mouth falls open and she twitches forward, though Bellamy steadies her and keeps his finger in place until he feels her walls sucking it in and melting it. The sensation is explosive. 

  
He rolls down the straps of her dress and places her bra back on, carefully adjusting it around her back and kissing her shoulder blade.   
  
"You feel how hard you make me, don't you, baby?" he asks.   
  
She doesn't have words anymore. She just nods, one hand digging into the soft coolness of the booth cushion and the other wrapped around Bellamy's knee.   
  
"Drink up," he motions to the full glass of wine resting in cranberry splendor before her in a crystal glass. "Don't leave any of it."

* * *

When she's done, he signs the bill and helps her out of the booth. They wind their way back between tables and down a long hallway painted gold and black before making it to a large, curved entryway. It leads into a wide room where glistening icicles hang from the ceiling like beautiful weapons while fireplaces full of popping flames line the walls. It's steadily filling up with swaying bodies, mostly couples, but also a few groups of friends here and there. Bellamy shows his ID to a another dark-haired beauty. She grins up at him like the first, not even sparing a glance for Clarke. She stays pressed tightly to his back, more of an effort to hide her water stains than anything else.   
  
"Welcome to Azgeda, Mr. Blake. All of your accommodations have been made."   
  
"Excellent, thank you, Ontari," he winks at her.   
  
Clarke wonders if he's fucked both her and the one from the door. Probably. It really shouldn't matter though. Bellamy guides her to middle of the floor and cups her waist in his warm hands. There's nothing to do but wrap her wrists around his neck, so she does. Bellamy starts to move them slowly, like trees swaying in a breeze. She rests her cheek where it hits just below his shoulder, trying not to step on his feet with her sharp heels as the wine pleasantly clouds her mind. He slides his hands up and down her arms where he notices goosebumps rising up.   
  
"Are you cold?" he asks.   
  
She tilts her head up at the surprisingly gentle lilt to his voice.   
  
"Yes, sir," she nods.   
  
He shrugs off his black blazer and holds it out for her, so she can put her arms in it. It's toasty and smells woodsy, something she's coming quickly to associate with him. He smiles at her, and it seems so weirdly genuine in the way it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. For a wild moment, she sees why her mother fell for him.   
  
 _What the fuck is happening to you? she chastises herself internally._  
  
He keeps his distance, letting her peer around the room at the strangely exotic decor before stepping back into him. "For the rest of tonight, you can call me Bellamy," he tells her.   
  
"Ok," she nods, pushing her heavy hair behind her shoulder.   
  
The music kicks up, and he throws her out by her hand, twirling her twice before bringing her back into the secureness of his chest. She laughs at the unexpectedness of it, a clear, bubbling sound that she instantly suppresses.   
  
The headboard is glittering gold, the mattress a rich red velvet. There's an end table and a lamp, but that's it. She didn't even know that places like this existed, but Nia's Lounge appears full of many secrets. She thinks she hears a woman's moan through the wall as Bellamy shuts the door behind them.   
  
He comes up behind her and drapes his arms around her waist.   
  
"I wanted somewhere different for taking your ass," he tells her. It sends coldness splashing through her body. "Somewhere you'd really remember because it was so new."   
  
"This is ... new," she manages.   
  
He laughs drily.   
  
"I know you're going to be a sweet girl for me, not fight or argue, hmmm? If you don't misbehave, I'll play with your pussy after and let you come."   
  
His hand curves up her leg and pinches her ass cheek.   
  
"Ok?" he says more insistently.   
  
Her throat's closing as she anticipates searing pain in her back passage. "It's going to hurt," she chokes out.   
  
Bellamy spins her around. "A lot of things hurt about growing up, baby." His eyes look so warm and open. "Now go get on your hands and knees on that mattress." 


	5. Chapter 5

Clarke tries to keep breathing normally when she hears him rustling in the drawer of the end table and realizes it's stocked with more lube. Then again, it makes sense. This is clearly what these rooms are for. Bellamy takes his time shedding his clothing and throws something small on the mattress behind where she can see. She watches him slick up two fingers and climb behind her, rubbing his hand over her back. "I'm not interested in hurting you, Clarke." His voice is so deep in the quiet room. It seems the couple in the room adjacent to theirs has finished up. "But you belong to me now, right?"   
  
"Yes, sir." She's trying to stop the tremble in her thighs.   
  
"Bellamy," he corrects.   
  
"Yes, Bellamy," she amends.   
  
"That means doing things that make me feel good. And that's what you want to do, right? So I can make you feel good too?"   
  
"Yes, Bellamy."   
  
"Perfect," he murmurs, letting his fingers slide into her asshole. "I knew you were gonna be good for me tonight."   
  
She half-tumbles forward at the invasion but catches herself in time, starting to pant. He unsnaps her bra and removes it one-handed before curving under her body to catch the heavy weight of her breast in his palm. "I know you can't watch anything at this angle, but I'll take pictures of my cock inside you, so you can see how your asshole stretched and made room for me like it was meant to do."   
  
His fingers start moving faster, and she grunts.  
  
"You can touch yourself but don't come," Bellamy warns. "I want to save that, wanna feel you shaking around my cock."   
  
"Tell me, Clarke," his voice is sandpaper. Somehow she knows, just knows without having to ask.   
  
"That's what I want too."   
  
"Too perfect," he crooks his fingers in her ass and presses his mouth to the top of her spine, licking at the hard vertebrae.   
  
When he removes his fingers soon after, there's a rush of emptiness he leaves behind. A weak pulse was building in her pelvis from the attention, and she was trying to focus on it, to reorient herself from the discomfort.   
  
"Ok, this is it, Princess."   
  
The head of his cock is slick against her skin when he presses it to her opening. It enters with some resistance, and she bites down hard on her lip, drawing a few drops of blood. "Breathe through it," he encourages.   
  
"Ahhhhhhhh," Clarke exhales loudly as he keeps going, managing to get a few thick inches inside the last channel he has to take.  
  
Hurriedly, he reaches for his phone and snaps a couple shots of his tan shaft half inside her ass. He notices her pale fingers finding nothing to sink into but the mattress itself and catches them up in his. "As hard as you want," he offers, and he thinks she might break his hand.   
  
He draws back his hips and brings their joined hands to her clit, beginning to apply pressure there as he pushes back in, almost all the way inside.   
  
"Oh my God!" Clarke yells, but he can feel the wetness starting to leak out of her pussy. He always knew she was built for this. Built for him. He angles deeper into her before pulling back out a final time and giving her one hard shove of his cock deep inside. The exquisite pressure of her hot walls around him makes him grit his teeth and hold back the intensity building in his balls. "Let's make you come, sweetheart." He rubs a little harder until the tremors start then grabs her around her middle and settles back with his ass against the balls of his feet, raising her up and down a few more times before his come bursts out of him and fills her up just as her orgasm crashes over her and hugs him harder.   
  
Finally, he starts to soften.   
  
"Slowly crawl off me," he whispers, reaching for his phone again to capture his white come dribbling out of her puckered hole.   
  
Clarke collapses onto her side, and he lays down next to her, rolling her onto her back and leaning down to capture her mouth with his. He's floating on the chemicals coating his brain, but still. He notices. She kisses him back. 

* * *

The bikini is tight and all about triangles. There are two triangles covering her breasts and another between her legs. All are full of colorful sunbursts of orange, pink, lavender and white. The halter ties holding the thing up around her neck are bright orange. Bellamy gave her matching bangle bracelets and the express instruction to serve his friends drinks and snacks while they watched the race and to let them touch her.   
  
She hissed at him in the kitchen like an angry cat, but he laughed and said he'd be sitting there the whole time watching and stroking his cock so not to disappoint him.   
  
Paxton, Dax, Cage and Roan have already been there over two hours. She doesn't know any of them well, but Dax seems more than comfortable reaching for her ass every time she passes with a fresh bag of chips. Meanwhile Cage has made her stand beside him to cup her pussy through her bathing suit twice, both times asking her if she was getting wet. When she leans over a glazed-eye Paxton to drop his beer beside him, he tweaks at her nipples and she tries not to shake back in revulsion at his tattoos and beer breath.   
  
"You hit the jackpot," he slurs to Bellamy, who's sitting in his wide armchair in the rec room like a king.   
  
He just smirks.   
  
Clarke doesn't understand the appeal of races - the cars just go around and around in a circle. But the men shout at the TV fiercely like it's the most important thing in the world. They also demand shots of tequila and a constant flow of sandwiches, which keeps her mostly in the kitchen and away from their groping hands.   
  
The race must be nearing its end when Roan finds her washing dishes at the sink and leans into the doorframe.   
  
"Hey baby," he grins too easily at her. "I want you to come out to the hot tub with me."   
  
Clarke freezes, eyes darting past Roan to the doorway leading toward the rec room.   
  
"Don't worry about Blake," he reads her mind, stepping into the room and strolling nearer and nearer through Abby's sunshine yellow kitchen. "I'm his best friend. He wants you to make me happy." Suddenly he's on top of her, stroking her belly. His fingers fingers dip down toward the scanty block of cloth covering her mound. "Let's go," he pulls at her hand and guides her to the glass door to the patio.   
  
Bellamy left the thing bubbling and foaming an hour before, and Roan drops in easily in his swim trunks and picks her straight up to drop her in beside him. The water's warm and soothing despite the unease brewing in her gut. Roan sinks down onto one of the low steps and pulls her into his lap effortlessly. The water hits the tops of her shoulders, and she knows her head can barely be seen over the edge of the structure.   
  
"I had such a good time with you Friday," he husks into her ear, wrapping his arms around her waist like smothering snakes. He plays with the band of her bottoms, snapping it back against her skin. "You had fun too, didn't you, coming so hard with my finger in your ass." He mouths at her ear and she shudders. "I want to play with that ass again, ok?"   
  
"N-no-noooo," she manages, trying to get up, but his ankles shoot out in front of hers and yank her back toward him underwater. "Easy, Clarkie," he says darkly. "Remember those videos. You wouldn't want them to get out, would you?"   
  
"Please, no, I don't want to!" she calls out louder this time.   
  
"Don't act so innocent," Roan begins working the band of her bottoms down her legs through her struggling. "I bet Blake's already been inside your ass."   
  
"What's going on?" Bellamy stands just beyond the patio door, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed.   
  
"Hey man, Just having a little fun with Clarke," Roan says lightly. "No big deal."   
  
Clarke takes the opportunity to slide away from him to the opposite side of the tub, pulling her suit back into place.   
  
"You know what I said," Bellamy strides over to them. "She doesn't leave my sight today."   
  
Roan grins loosely, the alcohol chipping away at his voice. "Yeah, but... I thought that was for everyone else."   
  
"It wasn't," Bellamy replies coldly. 

* * *

He bends down and offers Clarke his hand, and she uses it to propel herself out of the water. "I told you not to go off wandering with anybody," he admonishes against the side of her head, tugging her into him.   
  
"I'm sorry," she finds she can't look right at him, but not for her normal reasons. "I didn't want to go."   
  
"I forgive you," he wraps an arm around her waist. "But I still have to do something to help you remember better next time, hmmm?"   
  
"You really don't," she argues, eyes narrowing at him.   
  
"Clarke--" he warns bitingly as Roan's gaze flicks between them.   
  
"Yes sir," she follows him into the house.   
  
He makes her sit at the kitchen counter and alternate three shots of tequila with two glasses of water. The next thing she knows, she's in his lap in his chair facing outward, and the others are all gathering around as the tips of her wet hair rub against his chest and his hand drifts lazily between her legs, sending sparks of uneasy light through her.   
  
"Peel this back and show the boys your cute cunt, baby," he says. "Let them get a look at you."   
  
She digs her nails into his thigh as she sits up to comply, huffing, but already too overwhelmed by the growing achy weight in her bladder to disobey. Her fingers work the bottoms down her thighs enough for Cage to reach forward and yank them the rest of the way down. Bellamy spreads her legs, working a tan finger between her lips, a stark contrast to the white-pinkness of her skin. She leans forward a little to watch and he chuckles, pressing his other hand low on her stomach to draw her back into place and make her moan.   
  
Roan's phone is back, focused on how his fingers rolls around her clit and press inside her tight hole. Clarke tucks her face against Bellamy's neck in shame as Dax pulls out his dick and begins to stroke it.   
  
"I'm just giving you the lesson you need, baby," he tells her.   
  
He teases and teases her, allowing Cage to push aside her top to suckle a nipple, and she pushes her ass back into his groin mostly unconsciously in response.   
  
"My little Princess is so eager," Bellamy whispers to her.   
  
She doesn't really think he'll push her to the brink. He puts steady pressure on the space above her pubic hair and makes her wiggle uncomfortably as the stretching burn expands though.   
  
"Sir... bathroom. Please," Clarke whines after ten minutes of it. Her legs are shaking for real now, and she's going to explode.   
  
"She's something else," Paxton leers, leaning in to rub a thumb over her belly button.   
  
"How's that feel, Clarke? Tell the camera," comes Roan's deep voice.   
  
She ignores them all, squinching her eyes shut at the unbelievable sensations coursing through her.   
  
"Let go," Bellamy urges in her ear a minute later, and she can't bear to keep it in any longer. The stream of piss pours out of her, coating his shorts as she groans and Roan captures it all. "That's a good girl," Bellamy rubs at her hip. "Knew you could do it. Now you won't forget."   
  
He pushes her back to her shaky feet, standing up too and stripping off his shorts leaving him in the dry boxers underneath.   
  
"Now go suck Dax," he tells her, eyes sparkling with arousal. "He just blew his load watching us, and you know a good girl always cleans up the messes she makes."   
  
Clarke takes a step forward. Bellamy stops her with a hand on her shoulder. "No," he shakes his head. "Crawl."   
  
Ten minutes later, Paxton holds her spread legs close against the jet of the hot tub to clean her up, keeping her struggling form still until she comes.   
  
"Ready to get fucked, baby?" Bellamy asks from his perch looking down at them. He throws her a towel and uses a smaller one to ring out the water from her hair himself. "I'll be nice and let you pick if you want my friends in your pussy or your ass. Remember," he says seriously. "If you pick pussy, they can come inside you if they want, so you take the risk." He tickles her belly with a shrug.    
  
He feels his phone buzz in his hand.   
  
"What's it gonna be, Princess?"   
  
She quakes with anger that he's still going to whore her out this way, but she knows she could never outrun or overpower any of them. She's a little unsteady on her feet, and Bellamy reaches out to keep her even. 

"You gotta pick. After this, they're going home, and it's just you and me."   
  
"My ass," she whispers, hanging her head as the men all crowd closer.

* * *

 _Abby Griffin: Hey babe, a major storm is heading for Seattle with hurricane force winds. The conference is getting cut short. I'll be home tomorrow p.m. I'll give you a call when I'm back at the hotel. Thanks for taking care of our girl. xoxo_  
  
Bellamy stares down at the message in shock.   
  
He looks up at the scene unfolding before him. Cage is naked, lying on his side on one of Abby's cushioned recliners underneath the ridiculously large umbrellas she'd insisted on covered in ocean waves, sand dollars and star fish. Roan's picking up Clarke wearing just her bikini top as she kicks her feet and places her against the stretch of Cage's torso. The man's shock white fingers grip her generous hip as he moves closer, angling his dick toward her rosebud. Paxton steps forward, bringing his leaking cock to her lips and wiping his come against them in a smear.   
  
Clarke meets Bellamy's eyes with ones full of - it couldn't be betrayal - and something inside him snaps like a fucking rubber band.   
  
"Get off her!" he roars, storming over.   
  
"What?" Everyone erupts in angry confusion at once, but Bellamy just watches Clarke slump against the cushion in relief.   
  
"Change of plans. I want you all the fuck out of my house."   
  
They splutter and try to argue with him, but he grabs Roan's phone off a table and points them to the door. "Put your dicks away and get out."   
  
Roan reaches for his phone, but Bellamy grips it tighter. "I'm keeping it for now. You'll get it back."   
  
"What are you doing, man? The photos, the videos ... they're all on there."   
  
"Yeah." Bellamy snaps. "I know."   
  
When they're gone, he walks slowly over to Clarke, picking up her bikini bottoms from the ground and sitting on the edge of her chair.   
  
"I fucking hate you," she spits.   
  
"I know," he runs a hand through his unruly hair and looks at her. "You wouldn't be the first one to tell me I'm a monster."   
  
Clarke makes a grunting noise but doesn't contradict him.  
  
Your mother's going to be back tomorrow."   
  
"That's why you kicked them out?" she demands.   
  
"No. I kicked them out because I couldn't watch. I don't know," he scoffs, the alcohol making him looser as he stares out at the placid pool where a flamingo float drifts by near the waterfall. "I could until I couldn't."   
  
"Why's that?" her face is still flushed with the tequila, but her eyes are steady on his.   
  
"You won't get me to say it out loud, and you know it."   
  
"You're a twisted fuck, Bellamy."   
  
"Again," his fingers thread behind the hair at the back of his neck as he rolls his head forward toward his knees for a moment. "Not news."   
  
He passes her the bottoms.   
  
"Here." She takes them, her fingers brushing his. "Put them on. Clean up and put on a prairie dress. I'll go get some Plan B from the drug store."   
  
A few stars are starting to come out overhead as she slips them on.   
  
Clarke watches him closely, takes in the anguish rising in his cheekbones. It's the look of a man who's bullshit fantasy is falling apart and leaving him with less than he had when he started.   
  
"Hey," she touches his knee tentatively. "Just tell me why. I deserve that much."   
  
"You wouldn't believe it."   
  
"Try me."   
  
He sighs heavily.   
  
"You always ignored me. Looked right past me."   
  
"And that made you mad?" He can see her wheels turning, trying to make sense of his fucked up mind.   
  
"Yeah. I guess?"   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Because," he nods up toward the sky, "You're like the goddamn constellations. I can never look away."   
  
"That's ... I don't know what to even say back to that."   
  
"You don't have to respond to a crazy rapist."   
  
Her intake of breath is sharp.   
  
"I took Roan's phone, so you can have it all. Go to the police - have me put away."   
  
Everything's so heavy she suddenly can't breathe right.   
  
"I'm ... I'm not going to do that, Bellamy," she says after a lengthy silence.   
  
His eyes find hers in the gathering shadows, his full of questions, hers strangely resolved. "Why not?"   
  
He looks younger, more breakable. More human. She gets up very carefully and pushes his shoulder back into the recliner, so he's half laying down before climbing in next to him. His hand curls around her waist instantly, and then, realizing the mistake, he tries to remove it.   
  
"Leave it," her head rests on his chest.   
  
"Why?" he demands again.   
  
"Because I see you now." 


End file.
